


ah-choo!

by fairylock



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylock/pseuds/fairylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sungyeol believes getting an allergy while living above a flower shop is the ultimate example of irony. He keeps spending (wasting) money on bouquets to figure out which flower it is, when he knows he could very well just ask the florist. The extremely cute florist. (Sungyeol hates his life.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	ah-choo!

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [MyungYeolPromptMeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MyungYeolPromptMeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> “I rented the apartment above your flower shop and in the last two months you’ve gotten a new flower I’m allergic to so I keep buying bouquets until I can figure out which kind it is” au  
> (florist!myung)
> 
>  **A/N** : idk why I keep writing so much fluff, but I hope the prompter enjoys this! This was an adorable prompt. ;w; (And, yes, the title is from where you think it is. I'm sorry I'm so bad at them lmao.)

Sungyeol’s going to die. He's sure of it. His nose is running so much that the pile of tissues next to him on the couch could double as a slightly smaller Leaning Tower of Pisa, his eyes are red, and if he sniffs one more time he swears he going to ask for his nose to be cut off. He can do without it, he’ll be perfectly fine.

“You look like shit.”

Giving a sneer to the boy on the screen in front of him, Sungyeol opens his mouth to give a snappy retort when he lets out a sneeze, a “fucking hell!” coming out instead.

A cackle sounds from his laptop and Sungyeol’s going to close the damn thing, little brothers or not. “Are you done being an asshole, now?” he sounds sickeningly sweet, a tight smile forming on his lips.

Daeyeol innocently gives his own grin back, looking like he’s the epitome of the perfect son Sungyeol very well knows he isn’t.

“Why do you look like shit, anyway? Are you sick?” Daeyeol raises an eyebrow, leaning in his chair to get closer to his webcam.

Sungyeol sniffs again, grabbing a tissue from the box to his right. “I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to some flower down here,” he points down at the floor where the flower shop below resides.

“Allergic to a flower?” Daeyeol looks skeptical.

Sungyeol wonders why he even bothers to be a nice brother and talk to him bi-weekly on Skype, Daeyeol’s nothing but a little—

“This,” Sungyeol clears his throat, gesturing to his face and the tissue mountain on his couch, “has been happening for two months. Two. Months! I’ve been buying bouquets every week to see if I can find the culprit, but as you can see, I haven’t,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sungyeol’s definitely not going to show Daeyeol the collection of bouquets he’s been fostering in his apartment. He throws them out after a few days, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of the Americanos or pastries he could’ve bought with that money.

Daeyeol’s skepticism turns into amusement. “So...you’re buying flowers. To check which one you’re allergic to,” he says slowly, as if he’s talking to a child.

Sungyeol wishes he could reach through the screen and strangle his brother. Maybe this is an abnormal way of going about it, but any other option would require him to speak more than a few words to the florist in charge of the shop, Myungsoo.

There’s nothing wrong with Myungsoo—and that’s the problem. Myungsoo's looks are just a bonus to the personality Sungyeol sees when he walks through the shop, honestly; there’s a cat that comes by often that Myungsoo always spends time feeding and petting, Sungyeol’s never seen him get mad a single customer (and he’s sure the florist has had to come across some that would warrant his anger), and whenever he himself goes up to the register with yet another bouquet, he’s never regarded with a strange glance. Myungsoo asks him if that’ll be all, mentions a small fact about the flower in the bouquet he’s bought, and that’s that.

He even gives Sungyeol a smile every time, one with fucking dimples, and—

“—yung! Hyung!”

Shit.

“What? Sorry.” Sungyeol blinks back to reality, letting out a series of fake coughs. He wasn’t daydreaming—no, _thinking, thinking_ —about the attractive florist downstairs. Definitely not.

“You just had the creepiest smile on your face, hyung, gross,” Daeyeol mutters, a visible grimace twisting his features. “I don’t know if I want to know who you were thinking about. I’d say you were even blushing, do you know how high quality the image on my desktop is?”

Sungyeol _swears_ —

(Did he really have a creepy smile on his face, though? No. He couldn’t have.)

“I wasn’t thinking about anyone, I just kind of dazed for a bit,” Sungyeol clears his throat. “I have an allergy, in case you forgot,” he snaps, although there’s not much malice to his tone. He can’t exactly muster up the strength to be truly pissed at his brother today.

All he gets is a snort. “I’m staring right at you, I’m not likely to forget that ugly face of yours,” Daeyeol muses.

“Goodbye, _Daeyeollie_ ,” is all Sungyeol grits out before shutting his laptop. He grabs a tissue and blows his nose into it. Right before his call with Daeyeol had he been downstairs at the shop getting another bouquet (daffodils, this time), and he wishes he could just find the damn flower that’s causing him to look like—like some sort of messy ass monster that should never see the light of day.

The reactions thankfully don’t last long, but going through it for this amount of time off and on? He already has a weak enough immune system, Sungyeol’s surprised his body hasn’t collapsed on him yet.

He _could_ go downstairs and talk to Myungsoo about it. That is indeed something he could do. He could.

Staring at the clock hanging above the television, Sungyeol lets out a sigh and one more sniff before standing up. It’ll be fine. Myungsoo is just the florist downstairs, it’s his job to help Sungyeol, and once the culprit to his hellish allergies is found, he won’t have to deal with the constant sneezing and coughing and overall feeling of death again.

It’ll be fine.

 

 

Trudging down the stairs one at a time, lest he trip in his current state, Sungyeol can already spot Myungsoo tending to the flowers around the store, watering the ones sitting in the windows and fixing them into a lovely pattern.

Sungyeol almost pouts at how unfair this all really is. He catches sight of another worker in the shop, a high school student named Jiyeon—who he sometimes hears Myungsoo call “Kei”, for some strange reason—and wonders if he could ask her instead.

It’s not that he’s scared to talk to Myungsoo, no, it’s just—

“Sungyeol-ssi?”

Sungyeol can hear the concern in his voice, and he resists the urge to stomp his foot this time. He lets out a sneeze before he can even reply, realizing he probably should’ve brought some tissues down with him. Damnit.

Disgust showing on his face at how gross he’s acting, Sungyeol steps further in Myungsoo’s direction. He does have a few centimeters on the guy, which serves to boost his confidence a little bit, and he takes a sharp inhale. “I’m allergic to some flower down here and I need,” he sniffs here, “you to help me figure out which one.”

Myungsoo tilts his head at him, a curious action complete with a blink that makes him look like a fucking cat, of all things, and Sungyeol’s about to scream.

“Allergic?” the florist murmurs, biting his lower lip. He brushes by Sungyeol, making his way to the back of the shop where the register is. “Is this why you’ve been buying flowers?”

Sungyeol follows Myungsoo, letting out a hum as an answer.

He sneezes again, groaning in embarrassment. “I’ve been trying to figure out which one it is but—”

“No luck?” Myungsoo gives him a warm smile, digging around in the drawers around the register. “Jiyeonie made a list of flowers that are common triggers for pollen allergies, somewhere around here. Why didn’t you just tell me sooner?” The smile fades, hints of a frown replacing it, and Sungyeol will be damned if guilt clenches in his stomach for making Myungsoo feel sad.

Sungyeol rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, licking his drying lips. “I didn’t want to bother you, that’s all. It’s fine, it’s kind of like having the flu...or something.” Or something, alright.

“You’re not a bother at all. You live above the shop and have to deal with all the crap around here, it’s nothing,” Myungsoo excuses, brows furrowing as he digs into a drawer. “Damn, where did she...” he’s muttering under his breath. “This has only popped up recently, I assume? We’ve gotten a lot of new shipments in the past few months but I can try to narrow it down to a handful. If I can find this damn list,” he adds the last in a huff, lips forming a pout.

Sungyeol keeps in a noise, unable to help but wonder what it’d feel like to kiss those lips. Fuck—abort mission, Sungyeol, _abort mission_!

A wad of tissues are suddenly placed in Sungyeol’s view, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Take them. You need them more than us,” Myungsoo teases lightly, and Sungyeol isn’t blushing at all whatsoever.

(He does grab a tissue and wipe his nose with it, tossing it into the trashcan that’s thankfully nearby.)

“Found it!” Myungsoo appears to finally be done hunting for the scrap of paper he lays out on the counter in front of Sungyeol, smoothing out the wrinkles. “We’ve had sunflowers and daisies ever since the shop opened, so I think it’s safe to cross those two out...” It sounds like Myungsoo’s talking more to himself than anything, but Sungyeol would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing.

Why is everything about this damn man so endearing? It shouldn’t be possible. He’s wearing a black apron with the shop’s logo on it, for crying out loud. A black apron. Sungyeol would much prefer it be pink instead, and he’s honestly tempted to say so, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Myungsoo grabs a pen lying on the counter, and begins striking through names on the paper. “There’s not really much left, but I can give you a small-sized bouquet of each of them one at a time. If it’s not one of those...then I guess it’s back to the drawing board, but we’ll figure something out,” he explains, flashing Sungyeol another one of those smiles with his dimples showing.

Nodding as he coughs a couple of times, Sungyeol reaches for the paper Myungsoo slides over to him, unable to help but glance up when their fingers brush against each other. Myungsoo’s eyes lock with his, an intense stare in them that makes Sungyeol swallow, but a flush floods the florist's cheeks as he quickly looks away.

“I...I’ll go get you some goldenrods, now!” Myungsoo’s voice rises in pitch as he suddenly bows, turning and practically flying into one of the back doors before he pushes it open with an embarrassed noise, the doors swinging shut behind him.

Sungyeol swears he hears a giggle, and turns around to find Jiyeon with a knowing look on her face. She doesn’t say anything, however, and waves at Sungyeol from her place of arranging some roses on a shelf, and he can only wave back, confused.

“H-here we are, sorry I took so long.”

Sungyeol’s attention diverts back to Myungsoo, who has half a dozen goldenrods in his hand with a white ribbon tied around the stems.

“I don’t want to put you under house arrest, but...” Myungsoo stares at him briefly, then looks away. “If you have any other flowers in your place, toss them. Just stay with these for a while, and if there’s no greater reaction then those are off the list. I’ll move the newer shipments to the back and get Jiyeonie to take care of them, so you won’t react as much.”

Sungyeol takes the flowers from him with a nod, reaching into his pocket for some money when Myungsoo quickly begins shaking his head, and Sungyeol’s only slightly worried he’s going to make himself dizzy.

“It’s on me. I feel bad that you’ve had to deal with this. You’ve already given this shop more than enough money, really.” There’s a sheepishly guilty look on his face, and well, Sungyeol will let him have this. He does suppose it’s fair, after all.

“Thanks,” says Sungyeol quietly, bowing low.

Myungsoo makes a few noises of protest, an embarrassed blush to his cheeks. “Y-you don’t have to do that!” He’s waving his hands around, and Sungyeol chuckles lowly in amusement. He’s so cute Sungyeol could just _die_.

The thought immediately causes Sungyeol to almost drop the flowers in his hand, eyes widening in alarm as he tries to tighten his grip on them.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to take you up to your apartment?” Myungsoo’s worried again, and Sungyeol’s the one to shake his head this time. Though if he’s being honest, he’s tempted to take him up on the offer.

“I’m fine, really. Thanks,” Sungyeol repeats with a small smile. “I’ll check back soon, then.”

Myungsoo beams at him, eyes closing into crescent half moons and those damned dimples appearing again. “Take care of yourself, Sungyeol-ssi.”

Sungyeol hates his life.

 

 

Per Myungsoo’s instructions, Sungyeol discards all of the flowers scattered about his apartment—it was just two bouquets in separate rooms that had been on their way to wilting, anyway—and is only left with a vase of goldenrods on his coffee table. The white ribbon is tied around the vase in a loose, messy bow, not nearly as good as Myungsoo’s had been, but it’ll do. Sungyeol would normally throw it away, but he wants to keep this one for some reason.

(He knows why, but like hell is he going to actually say it out loud.)

He’s relieved when after an episode of _Running Man_ do his death-like symptoms from earlier (that’s what it feels like to him, okay?) clear up, and he can finally breathe through his nose again. Mostly. It’s always like this, but considering his eyes aren’t watering or puffy and he’s breathing just fine, however, goldenrods aren’t the cause.

Sungyeol groans, sliding a hand over his face. He’ll go visit Myungsoo in the morning when he’s leaving for work, and pick up another bouquet when he gets back in the afternoon.

The next day, Sungyeol’s making his way back up the stairs to his apartment with chamomiles in one hand hanging by his side, his free one crumpling up the list Myungsoo had found the day before.

Why did he, of all people, have to be allergic to some damn flower? He thinks it’s someone playing a joke on him; he lives above a flower shop and is allergic to some flower. It’s irony at its finest.

Sungyeol’s old apartment wasn’t the best, so it had been an easy decision to make when he had earned enough to finally move. He’d been looking for a change of scenery, among many other things: new neighbors (well, company), a place where the roof _wasn’t_ leaky and had a working microwave—and while walking by the flower shop to his favorite cafe one day, it’s as if the sign that said the apartment above was available for rent had answered his prayers.

He checked it out on a whim, figuring it couldn’t do any harm, and if the florist he’d caught sight of had just a minuscule bearing on his decision, then that’s his little secret. 

 

 

“No to chamomiles,” Sungyeol heaves a sigh, two seconds away from just faceplanting onto the counter.

“No?” Myungsoo repeats, brows furrowing. “What’s left on the list?”

Sungyeol sluggishly pulls out the wrinkled slip of paper, attempting to smooth it out a few times before deciding it’s not worth it. “Chrysanthemums,” he reads. “Please, let this be it,” he groans, actually faceplanting onto said counter and gently hitting his forehead on it.

“S-Sungyeol! Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” Myungsoo sounds panicked, and Sungyeol directs a smirk towards the floor currently in his view. It’s cute, how worried Myungsoo gets over him. Sungyeol feels a bit bad for taking advantage of it. But only a bit.

“I’ll go get you some, alright? A-and please, no injuring yourself. I’m sure we’re close!”

Sungyeol glances up to see Myungsoo wearing a smile, and he can’t help but actually believe him.

“Thanks,” he whispers, only to get a blink in response.

“For what? For this?” Myungsoo chuckles shyly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s the least I could do, really. I’ll be right back,” the florist says, disappearing into the back room, and Sungyeol silently sends up a prayer that this next flower will finally be the cause to the end of his suffering. (And while he’s at it, he also maybe sort of asks for a date once this is all over, but he’s definitely keeping that to himself.)

“Next up...chrysanthemums,” Myungsoo introduces, exiting the backroom, a bouquet of pink in his hands. “You know the drill,” he laughs lightly.

Sungyeol unfortunately does. He nods, grabbing the flowers and giving Myungsoo a salute. Please, let this be it.

“Good luck!” Myungsoo calls after him with a wave as he starts making his way up the stairs, and Sungyeol lets a smile slip. He’s just _so_ cute.

Sungyeol does his usual routine of putting the flowers into a vase, setting them on the coffee table, and plopping down onto the couch, just waiting for anything. If this isn’t it, he doesn’t have long before his symptoms finally go away, and then he’ll go down to the shop the next morning to ask for another bouquet.

This time is different, however. Sungyeol’s coughs are already becoming more frequent and it’s suddenly getting much harder to breathe than it had been before. He practically wheezes out a sneeze, feeling like he’s dying. Ah. This is it.

Chrysanthemums, huh? Devil flowers are more like it. He hasn’t reacted this badly to any other of the bouquets he’s had up here, and a relieved noise escapes his mouth at the thought of finally being free.

He resists the _small_ urge to dance around his apartment at not having to deal with this anymore, and he clears his throat even though there’s nobody around. Time to get rid of this once and for all.

 

Sungyeol can barely see through the water gathering at his eyes, holding the chrysanthemums at an arm's length away from him. These are definitely it. These are Satan. The sneeze he soon after lets out is enough to catch Myungsoo’s attention, and the man rushes over to him from his place by the window, worry written on his face.

“This is it,” Sungyeol says through a runny nose, just waiting to sneeze again.

“Chrysanthemums....” Myungsoo acknowledges softly, taking the flowers from him and nodding. “I’ll get something done with the others as soon as I can. No more new shipments of them, I promise.”

Thank _God_.

Sungyeol can only groan in relief. “Bless you,” he sighs, causing Myungsoo to laugh.

The laugh fades and Myungsoo glances down at the bouquet he’s holding, biting his lower lip before he looks around nervously.

“W-wait here, I have a present. For you. Um,” Myungsoo pulls at his apron, a shy grin pulling his lips upwards as he tries to avoid Sungyeol’s eyes. “Wait here!” he repeats, disappearing into the back room and leaving behind an extremely confused allergic man.

A present? For him?

All Sungyeol can do is stand in silence, resting his elbow against the counter. He notices Jiyeon isn’t here today, and before he can think anything else of it, Myungsoo comes back from the backroom, a bouquet of pink roses tied with an equally as pink ribbon in his grip. His face looks unusually red, and Sungyeol finds himself wondering if maybe the man had been doing just a bit of drinking back there—

“Th-these are for you.”

 _Oh_.

“Me?” Sungyeol clears his throat, pointing at himself with wide eyes as he sniffs. Myungsoo couldn’t possibly...could he? No, he’s probably just doing this to be nice. Sungyeol had only jokingly asked for a date while wishing for this all to end, really, it’s not like Myungsoo—

Myungsoo blushes harder, and Sungyeol finally understands why his face could double as a strawberry. No shit, Sherlock. He’s honestly a bit put out that he hadn’t thought of this first. It’s such an obvious thing to do.

(He files the idea of buying him a bouquet away for later, not caring if it’s sort of maybe copying.)

“D-do you not...want them?” Myungsoo tilts his head, sounding hesitant with shame creeping into his voice, and Sungyeol lets out a yelp that turns into a sneeze, shaking his own head fast before he takes the flowers from him. The last thing he wants is to make Myungsoo think he doesn't want this.

“Thank you, Myungsoo,” Sungyeol says softly, pulling out a tissue to wipe his nose with. He feels embarrassed, sure his own face is matching Myungsoo’s right about now, allergies aside, and he doesn’t know what else to say.

Myungsoo avoids his eyes, looking around the shop. “Would you...um...would you like to gooutwithme?” The last few words are blurted out so fast Sungyeol can hardly understand them until the whole sentence hits him in the head like a pile of bricks. Oh.

“Sure. Yeah. Yeah.” Sungyeol gives a gummy smile; he doesn’t want to seem _too_ eager, but what if he’s too nonchalant and Myungsoo just feels like he’s agreeing on obligation? “Saturday, then?” he suggests. “We can just do whatever.” He sneezes again, a wince escaping after.

Myungsoo glances up through his bangs, a grin on his lips—of course, the one with dimples—and Sungyeol doesn’t think he could’ve refused a date with him if he tried. He honestly doesn’t see how anyone could.

“Saturday it is,” Myungsoo confirms, hands fumbling with his apron again (an adorable nervous habit, Sungyeol notes), and he nods. “I have a wedding to start preparing for, so...” his voice trails off into the silence of the shop, and Sungyeol gets the hint.

It sucks that things are sort of awkward between them, but then again, Sungyeol’s talked to Myungsoo more in these past few days than he has the five months he’s lived above the florist's shop. He supposes things will remain like this until they get to know each other more. He doesn’t mind.

“I’ll let you get to it. I’m looking forward to our date, Myungsoo-yah.” Sungyeol surprises himself and Myungsoo, whose eyes grow wide, with the informality but well...they’re going out, right? Sungyeol’s just hurrying things up a bit.

Myungsoo’s shocked look quickly gives way into a smile, that blush creeping up his neck again. “Me too, Sungyeol-ah.”

 

 

The pink roses Sungyeol receives from Myungsoo don’t last long, naturally, but he thinks it’s an accomplishment that they last the longest out of anything else Myungsoo’s given him. He might even just ask for another bouquet of them, especially if it comes with another tiny note in Myungsoo’s neat scrawl and a cute emoticon with an excited face, hearts drawn all around it.

Myungsoo had been quick to get rid of all of the chrysanthemums—Sungyeol’s not going to ask how, but he has a feeling the florist is now parent to a good majority of them—and now Sungyeol is allergy free. No sneezing, no coughing, no sniffing, no runny nose; he’s perfectly fine and can actually enjoy himself and hang around the shop on his time off with Myungsoo all he wants.

Sungyeol’s never going to tell Myungsoo—his _boyfriend_ , now—this, but he’s glad his allergies decided to act up. He's not normally like this, really, but at the rate he was going, he doesn’t know when he would’ve been able to have an actual conversation with the florist, much less moved up to being comfortable enough to ask him out (or the other way around, too). It was a hell he never wants to go through again, but this was just a small sacrifice that was more than worth it.


End file.
